


echoes below, sky above

by Gildedstorm



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen, Touch Aversion, agender jedi knight, rakatan fuckery, shoutout to the czerka executive whose presence in this questline I nearly forgot about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 18:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13218930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildedstorm/pseuds/Gildedstorm
Summary: One prisoner of the Infinite Empire awakens on Belsavis, and another stirs below the sands of Tatooine. Like a comet pulled into orbit, they are drawn to meet.Shenrihn gets a chance to confront a spectre of their past, even if it means risking their future.





	echoes below, sky above

The data relay turns itself off, and Shenrihn tries not to feel. The wind on Tatooine is constant, and makes the sand hiss over the dunes. They listen to it, desperate to think about something that is not the recording, not that scientist dismissively mentioning the empire that took and moulded their entire life.

“They... could be wrong, you know,” Kira says, but there’s no certainty to her words. It’s a platitude, and Shenrihn appreciates the thought. “I mean, it’s Czerka. They pretty obviously didn’t know what they were doing. It could be a... Gree thing, or someone else entirely.”

It would be a nice lie to believe in for just a little while longer, but Shenrihn suspected from the moment the recordings dated the relics. It has been fear that drove them onward, trekking through the sands to the next relay. They should wait, calm themselves down, recite and remember the Jedi Code, but it is so hard to remind themselves of distance and serenity when the Rakata are involved. All their progress and growth vanishes and they are the same as always – wounded and afraid.

“Maybe,” they say, hearing their own voice as if from afar.

“Right... and nerfs fly, I guess. It would have been nice, though.” She shifts, and they know she wants to offer some kind of comfort, doesn’t want to upset them further. “We don’t... have to keep going. I could go ahead on my own, or we could see if someone from the Republic would be willing to investigate. We don’t _have_ to do everything.”

Shenrihn thought they would be tempted by the thought of running away, of leaving this for someone else to deal with, but even considering it feels wrong. They know the Rakata as no one else in the galaxy does, now. It is only right that they handle this.

“That is kind of you, but... I can do this. I must see this through.” As they say it, they feel their resolve strengthen, and with it, something like calm returns. The fear is still there, but buried, at least. They have learned something in the years since they were a Force Hound.

“...Alright. Let’s go see how badly they screwed themselves over, then.”

The next few relays tell an unsurprising story – unhappy scientists squabbling over whose theory is correct, accidents and sudden departures. Kira mutters unkind remarks and Shenrihn waits for everything to go _wrong_.

“With all the arguing they do, maybe Czerka got tired of throwing money at the problem and left,” Kira suggests as they begin the trek towards the last relay. “It doesn’t _sound_ like they were making progress.” Again, they sense this is more for their benefit than anything else, but it is still kind, even if untrue.

Her refusal to treat the search with any kind of reverence helps as well. It’s difficult to feel dread weigh on them when she’s standing at their shoulder and providing significantly crasser interpretations of each report Czerka had made.

But even that isn’t enough to lessen their tension as the last holorecording begins to play. Shenrihn is so sure that it will go wrong that when something finally _does_ happen, they’re almost relieved to have been proven right. The project’s director topples over, and when his killer speaks, it’s in Rakatan, so familiar in tone and timbre that their hearts clench.

They do not miss the Infinite Empire, but it... is good to hear their first language, all the same.

“...What’s he saying?” Kira asks. “You – you understood that, right?”

“He said that the... Imprisoned One would be freed.” Which, at the very least, makes their objective very simple. If a Rakata is trying to free itself from stasis somehow, it must be killed. The galaxy cannot submit to them again.

“You know, I hate it when you’re right. Just once, couldn’t things be _better_ than they seem?” She sighs, but Shenrihn can feel her gaze on them, the quiet concern that hasn’t ebbed at all. “But when it comes to prisoners being suddenly woken up after thousands and thousands of years, I’m pretty sure I prefer you to... whatever this guy is going to be.”

“Thank you, Kira.”

It helps more than they could have imagined to not be alone when they descend into the dig site. It is dark here – not the darkness they’ve come to associate the Sith with, constant motion and triumphant violence, but something older, slow and hungry. It is not that power that makes their skin prickle or their breathing shorten, but the vault itself, equal parts tomb and prison. They might as well have stepped back into Belsavis. If not for the wretches already lost to the Rakata’s power, they feel they could have walked through it with their eyes closed.

“Should we –” Kira begins to ask as the closest workers lurch towards them, but Shenrihn shakes their head, seeking out any trace of feeling or thought. All they can sense is that darkness, roiling under skin and behind the workers’ eyes, drawing them forward. They draw their sabers and ignite them as they lunge, and Kira mutters a curse behind them as their momentum sends them right into the foremost worker, one blade catching him just beneath the ribs. He crumples and they spin around, the other blade slicing deep into another worker’s torso.

It is a messy battle, even if the lightsabers are cleaner weapons than anything they had ever handled before. The people left in the vault have long since been overwhelmed, and the intelligence that uses them now either can’t control them enough to manage complex movements or simply doesn’t care to. The researchers, the workers, the augmented guards, all of them can wield a vibroblade, but not much more than that. They move gracelessly until they no longer can, and Shenrihn doesn’t care to waste time trying to find out if incapacitating them would affect the Rakata’s control. Kira might not necessarily agree, but she moves in behind them regardless, warding off blaster bolts and hurling rubble.

Neither of them are at their best, but this teamwork has become familiar by now. They know when to pause or duck as she sends stone smashing into a more distant opponent, and she trusts them when they suddenly dart back, sabers flaring, to hurtle into someone behind her. Once, they would not have thought they would ever have anyone willing to watch their back.

They’re glad to be wrong.

“You really think they had to be killed?” she asks when the last of them has fallen, and they’re both picking their way past the corpses. “Maybe once we got rid of the cause, we could have helped them.”

“Maybe,” Shenrihn admits, reluctantly hooking one lightsaber back onto their belt. It’s a small thing, but keeping even just one of them out helps them feel better. The hum of it means _power_ , power they had never wielded before. “But stopping them without killing them would have taken time, and we do not have time. Killing them was faster.”

Kira makes a noise in her throat, and they can feel her disapproval mingling with concern. “I know you’re used to this, but you don’t have to sound so _cold_ about it. They were just victims of this Rakata – just like you.”

“Yes,” they say, “and I would have wanted this mercy in their place.” That cuts any further discussion short. It is cold, perhaps, but also true.

They’ve almost reached the relic, set into ancient machinery that looks only vaguely familiar to their eyes, and their only warning is the sudden ebb in the Force, like a tide pulling back. Then it rolls over them in surging waves, thundering inside their head as the room quakes. Off-balance, they’re thrown off their feet and roll, shoulder and back smacking into rubble with a flare of pain. The impact jars their arm and their grip loosens, saber dropping to the floor. Shenrihn is dimly aware of Kira not too far away, left sprawling by the vault’s shaking, and even now the stone groans as if it’s still being torn asunder.

When they can lift their head, the movement making it throb, the Rakata stands above them, the projection grainy but towering.

They thought this would be like meeting the flesh raiders on Tython, wavering between fear and the anchor of the Jedi Code. It isn’t. The fear is so much sharper now, and memory presses down on them. _Stay on your knees. Keep your head down. Obey and there will be less pain._ For a long moment, they kneel, hearing their own ragged breathing, feeling their pulse jump in their throat.

“You have proven your worth,” the Rakata says above them. “We may share words.”

They can hear Kira swearing, low and constant. The projection does not waver. They look up, expecting it to have noticed them by now, recognized what they once were, but it eyes them both with aloof interest, likely gauging their power.

The Rakata have always seen everything around them as tools to be used and thrown away.

Shenrihn rises to their feet, the motions stiff. Of course – their tattoos aren’t visible, and they have been training in the light side of the Force for years, now. They do not look like a Force Hound, do not _feel_ like one.

It isn’t enough to get rid of their fear completely, but they feel it beginning to thaw.

“You are strong,” it continues. “This pleases me. The others are mute meat and metal. Easy to move, but only fit to be footsoldiers.” There’s a hollow thud from deeper in the vault, the clank of metal on stone. An excavation would need obedient strength, and they hadn’t seen any droids on the way in, offline or otherwise. The Rakata had taken hold of them, just as easily as it had the other workers. “You will be flesh-vessels of my will, commanders of my armies as I conquer this planet.”

“Uh,” Kira says, voice faint. Shenrihn fights for the calm they should already be holding on to, but the Jedi Code seems frail right now, easily countered by their revulsion at the thought of being puppeted like this, host to a will they hate to the depths of their bones. Beneath it, they are suddenly _angry_. They finally are in a time where the Rakata are dead and gone, where the Infinite Empire is dust and ancient myths, and here is the remnant of a remnant trying to bring all of its cruelty and evils back.

They had never been in a place where they could use their rage before. Now, they are. It pulses in their veins.

They could use the dark side. Wouldn’t it be fitting to strike back with the Rakata’s own tool? They know how to crush the relic hosting it to powder.

They must not. But they _could_. If they sank themselves into anger alone, perhaps it wouldn’t even hurt.

“Sounds like a great deal,” Kira says, filling up the quiet. By now they recognize her insolence as bravery, not foolishness, and know that she is also horrified, also scared. It’s just that she actually can control it. “I’m guessing whoever locked you up wasn’t a fan of it.”

A hiss of bitter contempt. “My own kindred trapped me in a place without names or air or light, because I dared to reach where they would not. They _feared_ what I would do. Now the galaxy has forgotten them, and I still live.”

“This is not life.” They hadn’t expected to say anything, but the words burst out of them, anger buoying them up.

“No,” the Rakata agrees. “Not yet.” The Force ripples and surges with that promise, and the heavy steps of the droids echoes back, closer now. They raise a hand, trying to reach out and wrench the relic loose, and blaster bolts break their shaky focus. Stepping away at all is a blow. They’ve never felt like this before, so filled with rage that they’re trembling.

“Guess the Rakata aren’t big on talking, huh?” Kira mutters, and grabs their shoulder, yanking them out of the way of a heavier barrage. “I know this is bad, but _please_ go back to being great at fighting through everything. We don’t have time for you to not be okay!”

The contact is an unpleasant shock, and Shenrihn stumbles. What are they _doing?_ The idea of crushing everything that could harm them is tantalizing, just within reach. It would be so easy....

The Rakata –

They try to turn back. It’s hard to think clearly, and the dark side is so close here, curls around their skin. The floor shudders and heaves, tossing some of the droids down, and distantly they wonder why Kira isn’t putting more energy into it. They could show her –

They raise a hand again, still unfocused, trying to make their way towards the power they know is right there, and she grabs it. Shenrihn flinches, trying to jerk back, but she only holds on tighter.

“ _Listen_ ,” she hisses, low and fierce. “You’re a Jedi, remember? You’re not like that monster. Don’t go back to being what they made you into.” The raw truth in her voice cuts deeper than the visceral unease at being touched, and they cling to her in turn, to what she’s offered. An anchor.

They had come so close to falling back to the dark side. A chill sweeps over them as Shenrihn realizes how densely wound the Force around them is, how tangled and seething. Their thoughts clear with effort, and the rage drains out of them as quickly as it had come, leaving them empty and aching with shame.

“I’m – I’m sorry –”

Her grip relaxes, and they drop her hand as if it burns. They scramble to draw their other saber, fumbling with haste. The low hum as it ignites steadies them, and its pale light casts their enemies in sharp relief and harsh shadows.

“It’s fine,” she says, and now they can hear the strain in her voice, how much it’s cost Kira to split her focus between fending off the droids and handling them. “Just... don’t worry me like that again, okay?”

Of course. She, better than anyone else, knows what the dark side is like.

They manage a nod and throw themselves forward, not trusting the Force here to guide them as it usually does. Right now, they can’t even trust themselves, but as they move, the forms the masters had drilled into them flow back, and trailing after them, the composure that still feels as delicate as glass. They’ve fought droids before, and their quick strikes slice through blasters, hew through joints, burn into armour. Kira plucks rubble from the ground and hurls it with lethal accuracy, lifts droids and sweeps them into each other so they have an easy target. As they fight, the pressure on their mind eases, and then the vault is still again, the air sharp with the smell of heated metal.

“I can give you power,” the Rakata says as they turn back to the relic, the Force roiling around it in agitation. “You will be raised above all others. You will have secrets, and glory, and all shall be open to us.”

“No.” They walk forward, the clarity of battle ebbing slowly and leaving behind that terrible emptiness once more. _There is no emotion_ , they remind themselves. One day, the emptiness will become peace.

Peace – the one thing the Rakata could not even think to offer.

“You will not live on,” they say, switching to Rakatan. That gets a reaction, a low growl as the projection wavers, but Shenrihn doesn’t let themselves be distracted. “Your people and empire are dust. You will die –” They shift their grip on one saber, tug their hood down with their other hand. They imagine their tattoo, starkly visible in the glow from their lightsabers.

_Shen_ . Not a name, just a letter. A tool to be used and thrown away, to be replaced with another. 

“– and the galaxy will be free of you at last.”

Their lightsaber slices through the relic cleanly. Its internal mechanisms erupt in sparks and the cold, heavy malice streams past them, bleeding into the air and fading.

They have never been so exhausted.

“Is that... it?” Kira asks, and then draws a breath sharply, whirling around with her lightsaber drawn. Shenrihn turns more slowly, feeling every limb weighed down. 

“How _could_ you,” someone snarls from across the vault, and their sluggish thoughts slowly piece together just who has followed them. The Czerka assassin. A trained killer bent on the relic, willing to slaughter all in his way. They can spare a little space for distant disgust of someone who could think of using something so foul for _profit_.

They must kill him. They heavily slide into a stance, and –

The vault shudders, nearly knocking them from their feet, as Kira reaches out and  _pulls_ . They can’t see the assassin – in fact, they can’t see anything for the dust and sand that fills the chamber. It clears slowly and they wait, torn between fatigue and honed tension until they can see the ceiling collapsed over him, stone still settling with ominous groans.

“I... wasn’t sure if that would work,” Kira says faintly. “I just – we couldn’t just keep fighting....”

“You did well,” they manage. “He was going to kill us.” And might have succeeded, in their current state. Exhaustion makes forgotten wounds begin to burn. They want to lie down, sleep for a few millennia, go back into stasis and not think about any of this. They wish they could not feel Kira’s regret, her shame for acting so quickly. 

More times than they can count, this is the only path left, but she wouldn’t  appreciate being told that.

“Yeah.” Still faint, but she lurches forward. “It’s... been a long kriffing day. Let’s get out of here, and... and _sleep_.” 

They stumble back out to the surface, and for once the oppressive heat is  welcome . Shenrihn imagines it warming every part of them as the wind scours away the Rakata’s taint.  For once, they leave their hood down and tilt their head back, turning their face to the sunlight.

Breathe in. Breathe out. The light is heavy on their skin.

This is where they belong.


End file.
